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helped his master into his bedrobe and then to a chair by the newly replenished fire. The barber entered on cue. Owain went to help Geoffrey with Ian's armor, which was heavy for the younger boy. By the time the barber's task was finished, Geoffrey was back. He slipped his master's feet into maroon chausses. Ian smiled at the feel of the cloth, a fine soft wool more fitting for an outer garment. Alinor obviously intended to impress the vassals and castellans. Even though he knew it, he whistled at the silk shirt that came next, and the undertunic. It matched the chausses, obviously cut from the same piece of cloth. He fingered the gem-set, embroidered neckband. |
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"This is ridiculous," he protested. "I will strangle myself if I try to lace up my hood." |
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"But there will be no fighting today. The hood will lie open, lord, and think how beautiful it will be." Geoffrey's voice was quivering with excitement. |
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Ian smiled at him and did not argue further. It was true enough. He was to be an image of grandeur today, not a working warlord. The hauberk, which was offered next, made Ian laugh again and jestingly hold up a hand to shield his eyes. It had been polished until it glittered like silver in the firelight. Every steel ring had been scoured and scrubbed and polished free of the rust and blood and dirt and grime that had accumulated in the weeks they had spent in the field. |
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"This is a piece of work," he praised. "I cannot think how many hours were spent over it. To whom do I offer thanks?" |
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"Lady Alinor, I suppose," Owain said, laughing. "She came and saw to it that it was well cleaned. Three times we had it back. If you mean whose fingers and nails scraped and scratched at every speck, we took it in turns, Geoff and I mostly, but Jamie helped, and even Beorn." |
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That brought Ian such a feeling of warmth that he |
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